there is no cause to be alarmed for me!" and
with all the innocent fondness of extreme youth, she kissed the burning
tears from his eyes.

There was a playfulness, an innocence in this poor girl, so unconscious
as yet of her destiny, which rendered her fate doubly touching,
and which to the stern Trevylyan, hackneyed by the world, made her
irresistible charm; and now as she put aside her hair, and looked up
gratefully, yet pleadingly, into his face, he could scarce refrain from
pouring out to her the confession of his anguish and despair. But the
necessity of self-control, the necessity of concealing from _her_ a
knowledge which might only, by impressing her imagination, expedite her
doom, while it would embitter to her mind the unconscious enjoyment of
the hour, nerved and manned him. He checked by those violent efforts
which only men can make, the evidence of his emotions; and endeavoured,
by a rapid torrent of words, to divert her attention from a weakness,
the causes of which he could not explain. Fortunately Vane soon
returned, and Trevylyan, consigning Gertrude to his care, hastily left
the room.

Gertrude sank into a revery.

"Ah, dear father!" said she, suddenly, and after a pause, "if I indeed
were worse than I have thought myself of late, if I were to die now,
what would Trevylyan feel? Pray God I may live for his sake!"

"My child, do not talk thus; you are better, much better than you were.
Ere the autumn ends, Trevylyan's happiness will be your lawful care. Do
not think so despondently of yourself."

"I thought not of myself," sighed Gertrude, "but of _him_!"

CHAPTER XVI. GERTRUDE.--THE EXCURSION TO HAMMERSTEIN.--THOUGHTS.

THE next day they visited the environs of Brohl. Gertrude was unusually
silent; for her temper, naturally sunny and enthusiastic, was accustomed
to light up everything she saw. Ah, once how bounding was that step! how
undulating the young graces of that form! how playfully once danced the
ringlets on that laughing cheek! But she clung to Trevylyan's proud form
with a yet more endearing tenderness than was her wont, and hung yet
more eagerly on his words; her hand sought his, and she often pressed it
to her lips, and sighed as she did so. Something that she would not tell
seemed passing within her, and sobered her playful mood. But there
was this noticeable in Gertrude: whatever took away from her gayety
increased her tenderness. The infirmities of her frame never touched her